Don't fret, that's not the subject of my column today - as always, it's THOSE DAMN KIDS!
However, when I am bleeding from the ass, my hatred of those damn kids
grows tenfold. The picture of the elephant on the toilet is not meant
to amuse you - it's to show you how I look every Goddamned morning!
Let me give you a little look at my day. I get up at 4:30am and have read the entire Lansing State Journal by the time most of those little pip-squeaks have crawled out of bed and had their first bowl of frutti-tutti flakes.
Every day, me and Mrs. Aldrich sit on our porch and watch those little jerks scrape dogshit off of their sneakers and onto my lawn.
The vicious cycle starts with the parents of those little Hitlers. They're the ones who let their little yap dogs (with their craps the size of Lake Michigan) shit on my sidewalk without cleaning it up. Come rain or shine, those damn kids step in it every morning, then they say 'ewww', scrape it on my lawn then skip off to school so they can learn how to piss on the flag.
It doesn't matter if it's on a day when my ass is bleeding or not... IT DRIVES ME FUCKING CRAZY!!!
But don't cry for me. As long as I have blood in my veins and bullets in my gun, I'll always have the upper hand against THOSE DAMN KIDS!
I'll talk at you next week...
Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.
]]>Dick Shepherd's got brown spots all over his body. He never seems to complain about them. That's what I like about ol' Shep. He's only got one quarter of a lung left, half a kidney, six fingers (out of a possible ten) and just one eye (and he's damn near blind out of the other). If ol' Shep doesn't complain, then neither will I.
THOSE DAMN KIDS have really outdone themselves over the last week. Snotty Scotty has discovered stink bombs and loves to throw them in Mrs. Aldrich's flower beds. She cut half of one bush down because she thought they stank so bad.
Every time he blows one off it reminds me of Korea. If I get a hold of that little bastard, I'll tell him about the stench of burning human flesh. That will teach him. I wish we could keep a record of smells like a movie can capture images from the past. If these stupid kids could just smell some of the horrors I've smelled, they'd treat me with the respect I deserve.
August is nearly here and I can only hope I'll be dead before September. I don't know how long it takes little brown spots to work their magic, but it won't be soon enough as far as I'm concerned.
As far as my plans for the rest of the spring go, me and Mrs. Aldrich will be in the bomb shelter eating beans and talking about war.
I'll talk at you next week...
Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.
]]>I once ate a man in Korea. I'd prefer not to go into details. The Pentagon told us never to discuss it. I obey my orders from the Pentagon unlike all these pussy generals that parade onto CNN and talk about how we're not fighting the war right. Shut the fuck up! - with all due respect - sirs!
Anyway, I once ate a man in Korea. The whole man. Like the Indians with the buffalo, I used every piece of that unlucky son of a bitch.
It was a freezing spring day in 1952 when the "incident" occurred.
Eighteen inches of snow, frozen roads, sub-zero
temperatures. I saw a man's face shatter like ice when he was shaving
with a rusty razor. Brutal. Goddamned brutal. So rather than die of
starvation and loneliness - I ate that dead Korean.
All THOSE DAMN KIDS know how to do is fall
off their skateboards and throw dog shit onto my lawn.
I'm going to
mark the edge of my property with sulfuric acid so the next time Snotty Scotty falls on my grass the skin will fall right off his ass! That's what that punk deserves and that's what I want to see!
THOSE DAMN KIDS giggling like gorillas and rolling down my street on their fat bodies will never know what it's like to be really hungry. I mean REALLY hungry. So hungry that you'd... well, you know...
The sacrifices I made just so they could go to Arby's...
I'll talk at you next week...
Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.
]]>That's all well and good. But every damn time the van pulls up, THOSE DAMN KIDS from the neighborhood flock around and follow those Peter Pipers into my house like some freakshow version of Pied Piper. "Can we pet your cat?" They'd say. "No!" I'd say. "Get your chocolate and marijuana hands out of my house!"
But those butt pirates always let the kids in on Mrs. Aldrich's action. They all have a high ho time petting these drugged up cats who just lay there waiting to die.
The one with the orange spot on his nose is Mrs. Aldrich's favorite. Snotlick from two doors down thinks the way to hold a cat is by the arms. Seeing that cat hang there in agony reminded me of so many of my buddies who had to endure Japanese torture chambers.
I looked at that cat. That cat looked at me. With my eyes I told that cat not to worry, Snotlick will be dead soon.
Mrs. Aldrich always cries when they take the cats away. That's the only reason I let them come back every month.
As Cuddly Creatures™ pulled away, and Those Damn Kids returned to throwing rocks at squirrels, I decided to go to bed.
I'll talk at you next week...
Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.
]]>Maybe it's this terrible recession and my retirement savings going down the drain - or maybe it's my horrible eyesight and my inability to see the television too clearly - or maybe I'm just dying and that's just not as funny as it used to be.
I'll talk at you next week...
Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.
]]>Pete the bartender was "in the shit" in Vietnam as he likes to call it. He sits there all day like an idiot talking to this rotating circus of filmmakers from the college - all trying to get into his head and find out what it was really like in combat.
VIETNAM VETS DON'T KNOW ABOUT COMBAT! It was all whorehouses and monkey brains for those guys. (editor's note: Manka Bros. & Octogenarian strongly feel that Vietnam veterans served their country as heroically as any of our veterans of foreign wars). That's why they didn't get a Goddamned parade. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised to see Charlie sitting the corner playing on the pinball machine if that damn Pete had his way. But he took one in the jaw, so I'll have to give him that. The man looks like an animal and he's only 57.
I can only take an hour a day in that miserable place. I need some place to go to get away from THOSE DAMN KIDS!
Last night, Snotty Scotty turned the hose on Mrs. Aldrich in subfreezing temperatures. She claims he was just helping put out the fire in our backyard BBQ that I lit to stay warm during my afternoon outdoor sit. She's full of shit (not literally, she hasn't had a decent movement in years) and I hate her for protecting that little prick!
If he lives to see 15, that's 15 years too many in my book!
I'll talk at you next week...
Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.
]]>My superior officer was a pussy - but I won't smear his name here -
he was, after all, a decorated hero in the war to end all wars (WWI)
and a valuable member of the super-duper war to end all wars (WWIl). I
think Captain Ralph "Ol' Pussy" Jackson (oops) would have been
ashamed of himself if he actually thought the allies would win. But I
think he always thought the Nazis would win, so he hedged his bets.
We can only hope Ol' Pussy Jackson is burning in Hell now for being weak. Though I don't think Satan would have much to do with him. What does Satan need with pussy ass weak field commanders?
Anyway, I was ordered to go to Spain. Southern Spain. The only
thing I knew about southern Spain was nothing. I knew
they ate goat brains and pig feet but that was it.
I wasn't expecting
to see "La Trucha" (The Trout). La Truca was a flamenco dancer. And
she was the love of my life. And I don't give a shit if Mrs. Aldrich reads this!
I never knew a dance could seduce me so.
Once you are in "La Trucha's" grip you pretty much have to kill her to get out. I spent five
glorious days with "the trout" and then I had to leave and kill more
Nazis. Ol' Pussy Jackson came to his senses and realized that the Nazis had to be killed. La Trucha
tried keep me with her by threatening my life with her high-heel
nail-studded Flamenco shoes. But I got away... yep... and I'm not
saying what happened to La Trucha on that September night in 1944.
Fuck La Trucha! She might have been a double agent for all I knew. Fuck that bitch! As long as Nazis are alive, I must kill them. I would have killed La Trucha - the love of my life - if she were a Nazi. I would kill my mother if she were a Nazi. ALL NAZIS MUST DIE! Don't try to win me over with your flamenco crap. It won't work! SCREW YOU, LA TRUCHA! No fish will defeat democracy!
I realize this has nothing to do with THOSE DAMN KIDS, but sometimes you have to kill others in order to kill yourself. Capisce?
I'll talk at you next week...
Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.
]]>When John Glenn circled the world in the Friendship 7 in 1962, there weren't kids on skateboards jumping over your car or riding bikes on your lawn. The only kids I saw back then were saluting the flag. The only kids I saw back then respected their elders.
Look here, I can remember 1928. How many of you assholes can say that? (ed. note: non-octogenarians, that is)
I remember when things were really bad. When children cried when they were hungry and policemen were corrupt. We've won six wars over the past 80 years (eight if you count Iraq and Afghanistan!).
What have the 12 year-olds of today done? They broke my front window for one. Yep, they sure did that.
One day, Mrs. Aldrich and I were on our way out to movie and little Snotty Scotty got it into his mind to throw firecrackers at Mrs. Aldrich. Real classy, Snotty. You're lucky she lost her hearing years ago, jerk!
Kids at the supermarket yell at me for parking in a handicap spot. I haven't straightened my right leg in 20 goddamned years, fuckers! Of course I'm handicapped!
I hate the kids of today. I wish they were all dead.
No, there's no Seven Plagues of the Bible or Four Horsemen of the
Apocalypse coming to destroy the world. The only thing that will
destroy this God forsaken planet is THOSE DAMN KIDS!
I'll talk at you next week...
Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.
]]>Lester forgot to take all of his pills this morning and is unable to straighten out his fingers to write this column.
He says that normally he wouldn't mention something like this to all the world, but he thought it would be a helpful way to remind everyone to take all your pills when you are supposed to. Unless you are one of THOSE DAMN KIDS, then you can go ahead and forgot your medication altogether which will hopefully result in your death.
Thank you.
He will talk at you next week...
Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that's his problem. Manka Bros. cannot be held accountable.
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